


The Phoenix King

by Ms_Adequate



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Redemption, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Adequate/pseuds/Ms_Adequate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Kael'thas, an unlikely project is put in motion, guided by Voren'thal the Seer. Brought back to life after several years, can the onetime Prince of Quel'Thalas come to terms with his defeats, and how will he view his past actions?</p><p>Inspired by The Weight of Living by pikestaff, and can be considered an unofficial continuation of her work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pikestaff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Weight of Living](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464707) by [Firebright Phoenix (pikestaff)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/pseuds/Firebright%20Phoenix). 



“Ugh. Oh Sunwell, that’s hideous. Don’t they have someone else for this? Why did they even decapitate him in the first place?” The Magistrix sighed angrily. She covered her mouth with one hand, holding the head at arm’s length with the other.

  
“Well, it had to be done. Remember last time?” Her hunter companion moved beside her and put the severed head of some other Wretched in the spot left by the one they were stealing. He gave it a careful look. “Close enough I suppose.”

  
The woman sneered with disdain at both the head she was holding, and the one now on the table in front of them. The hunter smirked, but a look of panic crossed his face as the woman threw the severed head to him. He just about caught it.

  
“Yes, but we do have trolls in the Horde. They love decapitated heads!”

  
“You heard what Lady Liadrin said, this has to be done secretly. Even we wouldn’t know about it if it could be helped. Everyone else is off celebrating so we’ve got to do this now, while they’re all distracted.”

  
“Well you can carry it. You’ve got all those hunter pouches and bags and everything, you can find room.”

  
“Why do you always make me do these kinds of things?” He asked, with the slightest pout in his voice.

  
“You wouldn’t really make your darling wife carry the decomposing head of our late Lord and Prince, would you? I mean… look at it.” The hunter sighed, though this was a sigh of resignation rather than the anger his wife had expressed.

  
“No dear.” He said half-heartedly, “I suppose not.” He carefully placed the head inside a small leather sack as the woman created a portal, and they both passed through it to make the surreptitious delivery.


	2. Chapter 2

The elf began his scream before he even awoke, a terrible sound of pure anguish and fear. He then gasped, blinked, caught his breath. The room he was in was pleasantly decorated in the elvish style, but the walls implied draenei make. There were no doors, no windows. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw an elf sitting calmly in a chair, watching him in turn. Before he could say anything, the other elf spoke;

“I apologize for the rather drastic nature of your awakening.” He said, “Unfortunately your condition was… problematic. It took quite a few scholars from quite a few disciplines to put everything together.”

“Who are you? Where is this? Where are my men?” The first elf demanded. He sat up as he spoke, though the effort was great, and it sparked a dull pain in his chest.

“There is no need to exert yourself overmuch.” The other elf stood up and approached the bed, “The apothecary said your memories may be slow to return, but please, I will help you.” He waved a hand idly and several sconces in the room burst with magical flame, illuminating the place much more clearly.

“Voren’thal!” Exclaimed the elf, “What trickery is this?” The old elf raised a hand and smiled,

“There is no trick, Prince. You were defeated at Magister’s Terrace, killed and decapitated. After some work, we have brought you back, and we hope in time to restore your mind as well as your body.”

“I… was killed?” Kael’thas brought a hand to his neck, then his chest, then looked at the old elf. Voren’thal was smiling, but despite a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes, there was no hint of sadism or resentment.

“You were.” He said as simply as if stating what he had for breakfast.

“At your hands?” Kael asked sharply. Voren’thal allowed himself a small laugh here before answering,

“Oh by the Light, no. Look at me, I’ve still got my mind, but do you think this old body could have stood against you at the height of your powers?” He shook his head, “No no, there was quite a coalition, a group of adventurers were the ones who, well, defeated you. Some were the same as those who bested you at Tempest Keep, too.”

Kael’thas knew he should feel anger at this traitor, the leader of the greatest band of traitors Silvermoon had ever known - but these emotions would not come to him. All he felt was sorrow, though at what, he could not say. He found himself lying down again, without ever intending to, and rested a hand over his eyes as he asked, now in a quiet voice,

“How long ago was this? And what of my forces?”

“I am sorry to say many of your forces were destroyed in the battles on Quel’danas. Still, some surrendered after your death, and others after our ultimate victory on the Isle a few days later. Fortunately, however - and Grand Magister Rommath deserves much of the credit for this - many of those who had remained here in Outland after you decamped to Silvermoon were convinced to return to the fold once they heard of your defeat.”

“You won? Then how… who would bring me back except…” He trailed off, finding himself terrified of uttering the name,

“Oh yes, we won. The Deceiver almost broke through, but he was rebuffed. Azeroth is safe. Silvermoon is safe. And the Sunwell, Prince, is restored.”

This news was enough to energize the elf prince, and he sat up again, giving a hard look at the old Scryer. “How could such a thing be?”

“The naaru. Velen used the last energies of M’uru as a kindling spark, and the Sunwell was reborn. Arthas’ defilement has been expunged and our people are, though very gradually, recovering.”

“I see. Velen, the Draenei?” Kael said to himself, sinking back into the bed again. Without even realizing it, he soon fell asleep. The old elf watched him for a time and then, leaving some food and water on a tray, teleported away.


	3. Chapter 3

Kael’thas had an itch. Two itches, actually. The first was physical, and it was the large and ugly scar on his chest where a crystal of fel magic had once been rammed through it. He could scratch that one and gain some relief, but the other was far more troublesome. When Voren’thal appeared through an expertly defined portal, Kael brought it up.

“I feel… I do not know how I feel. I am eager to do something, I suppose. I have been in this room for days, though I do not know for sure how many.”

“I know.” The old elf chuckled slightly, “And normally I would enjoy playing the part of curmudgeonly elder, and chiding you for your youthful impatience. Today, though, I intend to take you out into the city.” Kael looked at him suddenly, his itches forgotten. “I’m afraid you will have to be in disguise. It’s been a few years, but people would still recognize you. Would you?” He held out a small vial, within which swirled a thick and cloudy potion that never seemed to settle, even when the bottle was held still. Kael’thas hesitated for just a moment, before logic reminded him that the man in charge of his resurrection - a project that had taken over eight years to complete - would hardly seek now to poison him. He swigged down the sweet mixture in a couple of gulps. Instantly, he felt his body change and transform.

“I’m a WOMAN?” He cried out in surprise, only compounded by the change in his voice.

“Yes.” Voren’thal said, giving no hint of his tremendous internal amusement, “Now now, calm yourself down. What better disguise? No need to hide your face, nor do you draw attention to yourself by being transformed into something strange. Simply another young apprentice Scryer who has the dubious honor of being personally bored to tears by an overly talkative old elf.”

“I might have got a little warning.” Kael said, “But I suppose you are making sense. Who invented this potion?”

“The transmorphic tincture?” Voren’thal shrugged, “I have no idea. It’s quite a recent invention. I had one of the apprentices work on enhancing its effective time, so you have about two hours instead of just a few minutes. Light only knows what they think of me now.” He gazed into the middle distance, smiling gently, then brought himself back to the present, “Oh, anyway, we can be underway if you are ready.” Kael inspected himself, but somehow his clothing seemed to have changed to suit his new form. Voren’thal had given him some ordinary Scryer’s clothing. Kael disliked wearing the symbol, but it was useful for the disguise at least. He gave a nod. Voren’thal incanted and gestured, and carved a flat circle out of existence, making a doorway to somewhere else.

Shattrath City hummed, bustled with noise and movement. Kael looked around with wonder. When he last visited this place it was still largely ruined, with refugees huddled in poor camps and more people living in tents than buildings. Today it gleamed, with buildings repaired or newly erected everywhere, work crews adding more buildings and infrastructure, and a vast panoply of races going to and fro.

“What is that?” He hissed in his female voice, trying to remain subtle as he obviously stared at a large creature striding down a broad Shattrath street.

“That’s a mogu.” Voren’thal replied, “Not too many of them around, especially here. Not too many on the side of Light, frankly. They’re from Pandaria.”

“Pandaria… yes, I’d heard rumors. What other wonders have I missed, I wonder?” The mogu strode away and Kael turned back to the road ahead. Here, surrounded by bustling throngs of a dozen species, overwhelmed by the shouts of merchants selling wares, children playing games, friends throwing insults at each other, all the noises of a grand city, he noticed he had pulled himself closer to Voren’thal. His own magic was, well, absent. He could not cast even the easiest cantrip. Yet more importantly, he was not used to people ignoring him instead of deferring. He had spent his life being feted or feared, but always respected. On such a road as this, Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider could indeed stride, knowing people would draw aside, bow and wave, cheer. Now he was just another person among many.

Shortly Voren’thal led him to a side street, then into a low, broad building. This, he could tell, was a building that was repaired rather than newly built. It was also obviously a tavern, and Voren’thal walked to a table that already had two elves sitting at it, joining them without preamble. Kael took the opposite seat.

“So, you’re on time after all.” Voren’thal said to one of the figures.

“Oh as though I would be late for this. You know I don’t even believe you about it.”

“Come come, my dear lady, would I lie about such an important matter?”

“Well, where is he?” The other person cut in. Voren’thal said nothing, only stared with a slightly smug look at Kael’thas. The hooded figures both turned to look at him, and he found himself blushing, even as he recognized one of the figures.

“Liadrin!” He gasped. She pulled back her hood and indeed it was her, her fierce red hair as bright as ever it was. “And you, you seem familiar as well. But I can’t quite…”

“Aethas Sunreaver.” The young elf said, giving the slightest inclination of his head as he did so. Liadrin turned back to Voren’thal,

“You are respected and beloved, and wise as well. So I will assume you are telling the truth that this girl is who you claim.”

“I am!” Kael interjected, with rather less authority and more petulance than he hoped,

“But why here? Why a location that required a disguise at all?”

“I wanted to show the city to our friend here. It’s been awhile, and frankly, there is much to be gained by emphasizing the strengths of how we have done things.”

“So it worked, just as you say.” Aethas spoke,

“Yes it did.”

“I hesitate to ask,” Kael put in, “But what purpose does this meeting have? You both obviously trust Voren’thal sufficiently that you do not require proof for such a claim.”

“Because I wanted to look you in the eyes and know for myself.” Liadrin said, “When the naaru spoke to me of their plans, I was offended. I was horrified. “Only Arthas”, I said, “has done more harm to our people.”” She took a hasty swig from a mug, “But the naaru sacrificed one of their own rare and precious lives to restore the Sunwell. They forgave our abuse of their kind. They offered us redemption. A’dal said he would try to redeem Arthas himself as well, if such a thing were possible.”

“And in the face is such grace, such purity, we too strive for forgiveness and redemption.” Voren’thal put in.

“But I look into your eyes now and, transmuted though they may be, I see that yes, perhaps, distant though it is, perhaps they are right. I too needed their forgiveness at one time, more than most of our kind. I would like to believe our people are better for the part I have played since then.” Kael held her gaze for as long as he could, but she was infinitely more fierce than he, and he looked away, cheeks burning.

“Understand, I do not forgive you. I may never be able to. But I trust both the naaru and Voren’thal, and though I am watching you closely, I cannot say you are beyond saving. Not when my own dark path was led into the light.” She stood up with this, drained the last of her drink, and turned to Voren’thal,

“Thank you for this opportunity. I am afraid events will likely keep me very busy in the near future, and out of contact for some time.” She saluted crisply and walked quickly out of the tavern. Voren’thal gave a little wave as she went.

“A serious woman, serious indeed.” He said, “But seriousness is a central trait of our kind. Now, Aethas, my boy, explain your part here.” The young elf nodded, and turned to Kael’thas. His eyes betrayed a scintillating intelligence.

“In short, recent events in Dalaran have left me with no particular job to do. I help Grand Magister Rommath as something of an adjutant, or aide, and there is always work to be done training and drilling the various mages of Silvermoon, but since the late unpleasantness in Dalaran, I have had no formal role and my people have been absorbed into his forces. Anyway, Voren’thal asked for my help and I used my few remaining contacts in Dalaran to gain the information he requested. Quite a challenging set of rituals and spells we ended up with.”

“I have an inkling.” Kael said, thinking of the tremendous magical proficiencies that would be needed to restore him so well, after so long.

“Frankly, I’m here out of base curiosity more than anything else. My own star did not begin to ascend until after the events of Quel’Danas, and our paths rarely crossed. To be involved in such a remarkable project was tempting in itself.”

“But I am an old man, and still a busy one, at that.” Voren’thal put in, “Whilst young Aethas here has found himself at something of a loss.”

“In short, if you accept, once your recovering is a bit further along, I have been asked to be your… companion.”

“Companion?” Kael’thas asked, raising a long and delicate eyebrow.

“Aide.” Aethas shrugged, “Perhaps even friend. Chaperone, I suppose, being honest. And bodyguard if needed.”

“Wait, why would I need such a person?” Kael asked, “I won’t object to the support, but…” Voren’thal raised his hand in that way he was prone to doing and interrupted,

“We will discuss that shortly. I wished to make this introduction. Aethas, I have another letter for the Grand Magister, if you would deliver it?” Aethas nodded and pocketed the letter as he stood up.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you.” He made the rather uncouth move of casting a portal right there in the building, stepped through it, and vanished.


	4. Chapter 4

“Voren’thal, I have been thinking.”

“Have you indeed?” The old elf replied. They were sitting on a charming terrace in the sin’dorei style, overlooking a sunset over Shattrath City. More and more artificial lights, some magical and some mechanical, appeared by the minute. This was reflected in the darkening sky as more and more stars became visible. A tremendous arc of energy cut across the sky, looking as though it began in Netherstorm and ended somewhere far beyond Nagrand. “And what have you been thinking about?”

“Well, a great many things. But currently, I am thinking about why.” Voren’thal said nothing, so Kael gathered his thoughts and plunged onwards, letting out his stream of thoughts.

“Why have you brought me back? Not in the general sense, but me, specifically. My actions were… clearly not ones our people today regard with positivity. I truly thought I was doing what was best for us all. I thought that under the benefaction of Kil’Jaedan, our people would not only be safe, but glorious beyond measure, the apotheosis of existence itself.” He paused for a moment, “And now, without even understanding how I could reject it all so easily, I understand this was wrong. Our people stood and prospered without the Legion, defied it successfully. What you have shown me through the scrying orbs demonstrate that Silvermoon is rising anew. Slowly, perhaps, but growing stronger with each day.”

“Just so.” Voren’thal said.

“A great many of our people have died over the past decade. If my actions were indeed wrong, I am less deserving of resurrection than any of them. And few of them, if any, posed the same complications I apparently did. I was not merely dead, but decapitated. A fel crystal plunged into my heart. I was turning wretched, mad with the taste of magic. All of this almost a decade ago, meaning my corpse was much decomposed. And perhaps most of all, I was infused with demonic energies, in the thrall of a terrible master.”

“Yes, all true.”

“I have many questions about the techniques and methods. I can only assume the fel energies, at least, have been expunged, because I feel no trace of them, neither the power they promised nor the darkness that overwhelmed me towards the end. I feel as though I see clearly. How can I know this is clarity, and not the obscured veil? I do not, yet I believe it.” Voren’thal nodded along, though Kael was not looking at him,

“The grace of the naaru has indeed expunged the demonic energies from you. Believe it or not, that was the easiest part of my task. I don’t mean to brag-” Kael’thas cut him off here,

“We are sin’dorei, let’s be honest and admit we always mean to brag.” Voren’thal laughed heartily, and was privately pleased to note this was the first time he had heard Kael laugh since his resurrection,

“I’ll allow you that! At any rate, the restoration of your body after so long was the most difficult part of the task. I had to use the knowledge of the Forsaken, the Tauren, and plenty of information from the Argent Crusade learned from Northrend. You are not undead, as you already know, but truly resurrected.” Voren’thal took a sip of terocone tea and carried on, “Now, do be aware, your memories still exist, of course. Your emotional scars and burdens exist. You see with full comprehension the depth of your crimes.”

“I do.” Kael’thas said quietly, “And this returns me to the point. I have been cleansed by the naaru. I… think I recall a shred of myself remaining, even at the end, but it could still have been no small feat on their part. I have visions of myself suffering in some place that should not be.” He shook the thoughts from his mind, “But here I am, restored, whole except for this scar.” He gestured to his chest.

“Yes, the fel crystal was problematic when we removed it. I have some ideas on healing it, but-” Kael cut him off again,

“No.” He was firm, “Keep it. I should bear some reminder. And here I am, restored and whole. Perhaps the finest work of resurrection ever performed.”

“You honor me.”

“I am only stating the truth. But it all comes back to the question of why. Why so much effort? Could all those resources not have been better used restoring many others of our people, elves much more deserving than I?”

“Yes.” The frankness of Voren’thal’s reply felt almost like a slap in the face to Kael, but he said nothing as the old elf continued, “but before I explain, I would hear your best guess.” Kael struggled for a few moments as he thought about what he wanted to say, and how. All kinds of ideas swirled in his head, but one stood out - and always had, he realized,

“Symbolism.”

“Go on.”

“I was a great prince of our people, once. I recall my campaigns, and I know I was well-regarded, even beloved. After my father’s death I did all I could to rally our broken Kingdom, to keep us going through the dark times. When relations with the Alliance deteriorated, I sought new allies, and convinced most of people that each successive stage, first Illidan and the naga, then the journey to Outland, was a sensible course. I tried to lead us into the maws of the Burning Legion and many of our people still followed me. Was that only because there was nowhere else to turn, was it only because a promise of security was enough and the promiser is secondary?”

“Wise questions.”

“And I think to myself ‘how can I bear this burden?’ How can I bear the burdens of all my decisions, and their costs? I know this is selfish. I bear a burden of guilt, but I have inflicted the burdens of true loss upon many others. Since the Third War our people have held to the belief we can endure no matter the hardship. So I think that, if I can find some way to redeem myself, though I cannot imagine how, I might serve as a symbol of endurance to our people. Even I, Kael’thas Sunstrider, could be redeemed, could be forgiven, and could be an example that others may look to in their own dark times. An example of both what failure to make the right decisions costs, and how much stronger the Light is than the Legion, able to forgive and overcome even such crimes as mine.”

“I always said you were a sharp one, my boy.” Voren’thal replied, after a moment of reflection, “You are correct in the essentials, but you have only half the picture. Tea?” He said suddenly. Kael assented, and the teapot floated gently over to his cup, poured itself out delicately, and floated back to the table beside Voren’thal. Meanwhile a spoon stirred itself through some minor enchantment, until Kael gave the cup two quick taps on the side and pulled the spoon out.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Anyway, as I said, you have only half the picture. Tell me, what do you think of our current leadership?”

“The Regent Lord? He seems to be doing a fine job, as do Halduron and Rommath. No, that is unfair, they are doing much better than fine. They are superb.”

“They are. But do people rally around them? Do people sing the name Theron as they once sang the name Sunstrider? That is not his failing, he is superlative, both wise and strong. Still, Regent Lord does not have the same power to stir hearts as a King does.” Kael said nothing for some minutes.

“No.” He ended the silence, “Absolutely not.”

“No, not anytime soon, that is certain. Much must be done. But let me tell you a story.”

“I do not know if I want to hear it.”

“That’s too bad, seeing as you can’t teleport or slowfall. Now listen.” Kael didn’t see the mischievous smile the old elf had when he said this, “Years ago, when you were still ruling in Tempest Keep, I spoke with Rommath. The Grand Magister was troubled by his recent visit to your fortress, and I was able to spirit him away to one of my inner rooms for a chat. He was not happy about it, let me tell you! And he certainly had no more eagerness to listen to an old elf’s stories than you. Well, during the conversation I spoke harshly of you. I said you should be left go off by yourself, to ruin yourself. I said these things because Rommath needed to hear them, he needed to understand what had happened and what was to come if he was to do his part to save Silvermoon. He asked if I, as a seer, did not have the means to give him more information. I did not, and I told him this - but I also said I saw dark times, and rebirth, ahead of us.”

“Rebirth. That is a word I used myself, more than once.” Kael’thas said.

“Indeed, and the Grand Magister pointed out as much. But the rebirth of our people into the sin’dorei was not what was at hand. I did not see at the time, though I do see now, that even the remaking of the Sunwell was perhaps not the final and true rebirth of our people. No, there is, I believe, a third rebirth to come. The final one? I cannot say. And it is not guaranteed, as I said to Rommath I say to you - I see multiple paths. And multiple futures for each path.”

“And you see me in some of those paths and futures.” Kael’thas meant it as a question, but it came out as a simple statement.

“I believe you have a potential place, a place from which you could do great things.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Aethas, do you have it?”

“I do, my Prince.” The young mage replied. He carried a long package, neatly wrapped in rough old leathers.

“I’ve told you not to call me that. I do not carry that mantle, not now at least.” Aethas approached and said nothing as he handed the package to Kael. The elf took it carefully, looked at it for a long minute.

“I did great deeds with this blade,” He said, “When it was reforged from my father’s sword, not even Frostmourne could break it. I do believe Arthas wore a look of genuine shock when he met my parry.” He smiled at the memory, “If only I could have ended it there. Still, it is here now. Did you have much trouble?”

“Not much.” Aethas replied with a shrug, “I don’t know how that goblin got a hold of it, but you know goblins, enough gold and they’d sell their mothers to a Pit Lord.”

“We could afford it?” Kael looked at his companion with a critical eye.

“There was some wheedling, wheeling and dealing, I did a few tasks for him. More suited to some wet-behind-the-shortears human than us, but then we’re posing as adventurers. Anyway, yes, we could afford it.”

Kael’thas inhaled and held his breath as he pulled the sword out of its scabbard. Felo’melorn - Flamestrike. The ancestral sword of House Sunstrider, and a blade used in combat by his ancestors since they were still Highborne. It shone in the dusk, overpowering the candles in their little room in The Ogre’s Head And Other Head, a goblin establishment in Ratchet.

He stepped into the middle of the room and gave it a few tentative swings and thrusts. Aethas stood well back. Kael smiled broadly, something he had found himself doing more easily since starting this journey with his companion. Just the two of them, the road, no real responsibilities except those they volunteered for - there was something deeply liberating about it.

“Ah, it feels good to hold it again.” Kael said.

“And it is good that it is in the hands of our people, too.” Aethas added.

“That it is, my friend, that it is.” He twisted the blade and inspected it, watching the flames play on the runes for a moment, then sheathed it carefully once again. He pulled away the leather bindings to reveal the scabbard, as ornate and beautiful as the blade itself. Setting it carefully on the table, he picked up a bottle of wine and uncorked it, “And while you were out, I haggled with the owner of this fine establishment and secured a little libation for the evening.” He poured two glasses of wine out, handing one to Aethas as he showed the bottle’s label; Brightsong Wine.

“Brightsong? Here?” Aethas said with some surprise. Kael nodded, “Well, I won’t complain!” It was a particular favorite of his. Not hard to get in Shattrath, but the winery did not export much to Azeroth, so the bottle was quite a rarity in this part of the world. “Ah, lovely.” He smiled as he lay back and sipped at the wine, “I am in your debt.”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” Kael’thas replied, waving a hand idly, “Just a gift of gratitude from one friend to another.”

“Well, then I am honored!” Aethas raised his glass, “To be considered your friend.” Kael felt the tiniest of blushes warming his cheeks and shook his head.

“I don’t know how much honor there is in that, but for my part, I can think of few I would rather spend time with.”

“No, Kael’thas. I truly mean it. I am one elf, and I was little affected by events before, by the standards of our people. But here, now, I consider you a friend, an ally, and I trust you.” Kael smiled,

“That is more than I should ever deserve, Aethas. It is I who am honored. What you have done for me with your friendship, your advice, your guidance, it is more than could ever be repaid.”

“I admit I was not sure about this whole thing when Voren’thal suggested it. But he’s a smart old fellow, so here we are. But listen to me, Kael. I cannot give you the forgiveness or redemption of the rest of our people. I can say only that I think - no, I have come to truly believe - that if you continue to act as you have in these months since we set out, the people will come to understand, forgive you, and one day welcome you.”

“I can honor your words only by living up to them.” Kael said in reply, keeping it short to try and hide the emotion in his voice. Aethas was sharp though, and knew when the point had been made, so he changed the subject,

“So, anyway, there’s an inn full of food downstairs, plenty more wine, and a few ladies to catch the eye! Tomorrow’s a new day with a lot to do, but we’ll hardly get it done without some relaxation now. Let’s get to it!” Kael laughed, appreciating Aethas’ insight and tact, but waved a hand away,

“Just give me a short while. I must write a couple of letters, it won’t take long.”

“Ah, yes. Liadrin and Voren’thal, I take it?” Kael nodded, “I hear things in Draenor are coming to a head. They’re launching a big offensive against Tanaan.”

“I’ve heard the same.” Kael replied over his shoulder, as he dug through his effects for the parchment and quill, “I feel as though we should be there alongside them.”

“In a perfect world, maybe. But you’re still recovering your skills and powers. Still finding your new self, too.” Kael nodded once again and sat down to write the messages. He guided the quill over the parchment with expert magical control, never touching either physically. It was not a challenge of power, but of finesse, and Kael had come to find this calligraphy had a meditative quality about it. Soon enough though, the letters were written, sealed, and deposited in the mailbox for delivery. Then the two elves turned to lighter affairs and enjoyed an evening of revelry.


	6. Chapter 6

“And that’s the end of THAT!” The hunter said, dusting his hands dramatically. The Magistrix rolled her eyes, “What, aren’t you glad it’s over?” The portal from Draenor closed behind them, and they stood in the middle of their home in Silvermoon, a little disoriented by the translocation.

“Of course I am. But your ridiculous production makes you look, well, ridiculous!” The hunter smiled sheepishly back at her, “Oh you big idiot.” She couldn’t help but smile at those stupid puppy-dog eyes he always made, and she gave him a kiss on the lips and a thump on the shoulder at the same time, “Quiet here, isn’t it?”

“You specifically said you wanted to get back late so that it would be quiet!” The hunter protested.

“Well, yes. But I was kind of hoping they would figure it out and throw a huge party anyway.” She sighed, “Oh well.” The two began to set down their weapons and equipment, taking off armor, until the Magistrix spotted a note on her desk.

“Hey, do you know about this?” She asked her husband.

“No?” He said, “What is it?”

“A letter. Addressed to me,” She flipped the envelope over, “No names or marks.”

“Well, open it.”

“Look, the moment I open this, I’m going to be dragged into some ridiculous plot in a previously undiscovered continent, or pulled through time to fight Kazzak yet again, or embroiled in some stupid political debacle instigated by the Alliance but which our people are both held accountable for and expected to rectify. No, what I’m going to do is set it carefully back on the table just as I found it, throw my robe over it with the most precise carelessness, and forget all about it until the morning. I haven’t had a minute alone with my husband in months, and I am having this one damned night with him even if Silvermoon collapses around our ears.”

“I don’t think I have any objections to this.” The hunter said with faux stoicism.

When noon came, the Magistrix finally climbed from her bed and grudgingly read the note. Frankly, she could have done with a few weeks before she even started to think about some new campaign. But duty called, and she was nothing if not a dutiful sin’dorei. She was not expecting the note she read, however.

_My Dear Magistrix,  
Forgive the haste of this note, and the unorthodox delivery, but circumstances dictate both. At your discretion, please report to the Tavern in the Mists on the Veiled Stair. Meet Aethas Sunreaver there - he will introduce you to another individual. Said individual has an item of considerable value intended for your care and use. Retain the utmost discretion regarding the identity of this individual.  
Yours,  
Lady Liadrin._

It was affixed with her personal seal and a quick magical scry confirmed its authenticity. She called her husband into the room, and had him read it.

“What in the Emerald Nightmare is this about?” He sighed, “The Tavern in the Mists? Does that even exist anymore? I thought a grummle burned it down or something.”

“Well, we better get ready. Liadrin wouldn’t insist on discretion if it wasn’t important, and that makes me curious. Who is even still in Pandaria these days? Wrathion?”

“No, he was doing something in Draenor, and I think I heard he was in Booty Bay currently.”

“Well, husband of mine, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Do you even remember how to create a portal to Pandaria?”

“Shut up.”


	7. Chapter 7

Just hours later they had arrived at the Tavern, thanks to both a successfully recalled portal and a pair of rapid mounts. They looked around the tavern’s main room; there were a couple of agents of Wrathion, there was someone clearly working for Madame Goya, and a handful of grummles were making a raucous scene about some kind of milk. Before they even took some seats, the young Aethas strode out from some unknown corner and greeted them warmly.

“Bal’a dash, malanore!”

“And to you.” The Magistrix bowed her head. Aethas was a prodigy, and the elvish people always respected a prodigal mage.

“A drink, food?” Aethas asked them.

“No thank you.”

“Ah, right to business. Okay, come along then.” He beckoned and led the two to a comfortable room where another elf sat. Both froze just inside when they saw who it was.

“What!” Shouted the Magistrix, at the same moment the hunter cried “You!” Aethas placed a gentle hand on both their shoulders and spoke,

“I know. But before you start shooting the place up with spells and arrows, take a seat. Think about this. I’m involved, and I barely even knew the guy, so I am unlikely to be part of some evil conspiracy. And you got a letter from Lady Liadrin, did you not?”

“I… I…” The Magistrix sat down, not out of obedience but simple stupefaction.

“I held your head!” The hunter shouted, apparently losing control.

“Indeed.” Kael’thas replied, “I have heard you two were responsible for retrieving a rather important part of me. I had grown, if you will pardon the pun, rather attached to it.” Without looking at Aethas, he could feel the younger elf rolling his eyes, “And though I would repay you for this service, I am not sure you would yet want credit or accolades for it.”

“I would actually not object to gold.” The hunter said, provoking a hearty laugh from Kael,

“Ah, you are indeed an adventurer. Well, I believe you will leave this room quite satisfied, but first, I would speak to the Magistrix.” The Magistrix nodded, and Kael gestured to the wrapped form of Felo’melorn on the table next to him. The old leathers had been replaced with the finest Pandarian furs, and even the wrapping that carried the sword and scabbard was quite beautiful.

“I have a gift for you.” He said, as he began to carefully unwrap it, “This is Felo’melorn. Ancestral sword of House Sunstrider, and a symbol of first the quel’dorei and now the sin’dorei.” The scabbard glinted and glowed even before he unsheathed the blade. He paused when only an inch or two was drawn and looked the Magistrix directly in the eyes, “I have followed the campaigns in Draenor with considerable interest. I have also reviewed the battles of my time in… in my time away. You have been instrumental in many.”

“I have only sought to serve the Blood Elves.” She replied.

“And your service has been exemplary. Had I a few like you, things could have been very different.” Despite the absence of a mirror, Kael’thas managed to give himself a chiding look at this, and corrected himself, “No, the responsibility was mine. The path I chose was my own. Anyway, I am but a humble adventurer these days, and such a blade not only draws attention, it is wasted on me.” Now he unsheathed the runeblade fully, and it burned fiercely, flames snaking all around it, diving into the runes playfully before hopping back out and circling the sword.

“I would entrust it to your care.” In a blindingly fast maneuver, Kael’thas resheathed the sword, flipped it around, and offered it hilt-first to the Magistrix. Tentatively, she took it from him. It felt light and supremely balanced, and even though swordplay was not her forte, she could tell instantly that it carried more powers than a sharp edge. “You have led not only the Blood Elves but all of the Horde in Draenor. I do not know what is to come, but I am sure you will be at the forefront of it. And with this blade in your hands, you will not only be stronger than ever before, but you can be a symbol to our people. You will be the vanguard of what is best about us. Loyalty, determination, wisdom.”

“This is an honor beyond words.” She replied, still unable to take her eyes off the weapon she held, “Is he really who he looks like?” She suddenly asked Aethas.

“He is Kael’thas, Prince of our people, if that is what you mean. Restored and healed.”

“But?” She prodded him. Both her husband and Kael remained silent.

“I did not know him personally, before, so I do not know how much he might have changed. But today he is someone new and different, from both before and after his more questionable decisions.”

“I see.” She replied, then lapsed into silent inspection of the blade once again. At length, she spoke,

“Prince, I am deeply honored by this gift. It is a tremendous weapon, and I will do all I can to live up to the heritage and promise of this blade. In my hands, I pledge that Felo’melorn will inspire our people. I will always try to use it to guide us towards what is right.” Kael gave a sudden, happy clap,

“That is exactly the sort of thing I hoped to hear! You see, Aethas? She’s the perfect choice for the blade.”

“You were right, my Prince, she does seem to be. Oh, and you,” he turned to the Magistrix’s hunter husband, who had remained quiet through most of the exchange, “I’m afraid we do not have any relics that befit a hunter, though I can see we would struggle to match what you already own.” The hunter smiled, knowing the glorious Golden Bow of Quel’Thalas was on his back, a weapon he had used for years in defense of his people, “But we have managed to gather a healthy pot for you. It would hardly be fair to only gift the one of you, even if one treasure is rather richer than the other.” Aethas then produced a bulging pouch and handed it to the hunter, who opened it and found himself agog at the panoply of gems within.

“No, no, I think this is quite a rich treasure.” He grinned, showing it to his wife, who shook her head in despair. Here she was being given perhaps the greatest relic her people had ever held, and he was excited about some pretty rocks?

“Now, I do apologize for dragging you out here to the middle of nowhere, but it may not be wise for me to stride through the streets of Silvermoon just yet. I will let you get back to your own business now, but thank you for visiting me. I hope Felo’melorn serves you well. And should out paths happen to cross in some inn or tavern, I’ll be getting the drinks in.” They made their farewells and left, while Kael’thas and Aethas Sunreaver remained in their strange little room in Pandaria.


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you certain of these reports?” Lor’themar asked, knowing full well that Halduron would not have brought them to him if he was not.

“Yes, completely. The Legion is here, in numbers not seen since, well, in numbers we have never seen. The Broken Isles are overrun already.”

“By the Sunwell.” Lor’themar rubbed his good eye, “Alright. When Rommath gets here we’ll-” he was interrupted by the arrival of that very elf, who strode into the hall, disappeared, and reappeared at the table the other two had been discussing.

“Regent Lord.” He said to Lor’themar.

“We don’t have time for pleasantries. Halduron, Rommath, recall everyone.”

“Everyone?” Rommath raised a long and exquisitely preened eyebrow.

“It’s the Legion, Grand Magister.” He swept an arm over the map in front of them. The Grand Magister had not noticed the map when he arrived, and his eyes widened in fear when he analyzed it.

“By the Sunwell!”

“This is far from a complete picture,” Halduron said, “Just what my scouts have confirmed.” The map of the Broken Isles was already covered with dozens of small pieces of wood and bone, intricately carved into grotesque figures representing all kinds of Legion demons.

“Well that explains a recall. I can certainly pull back most of the various mages we command. No doubt Halduron can do the same with his men. We need to contact Lady Liadrin immediately.”

“Outlands, too. Shattrath City, the Aldors and Scryers, they have strength.”

“I have already dispatched a mage to Voren’thal. I had expected he would be here already, actually.” Lor’themar frowned. Still, the elf was old, for all they knew he was just slowly hobbling around, or insisted on finishing some of his terocone tea before getting to business, “Rommath, coordinate your people where possible, I want all sin’dorei of all schools to be able to gather, not just the mages.”

“I will have Maltrake coordinate that personally. Orders once they are gathered?”

“Hold for the moment. I must consult with Vol’jin and the other leaders to see what the overall plan is. I would prefer not to throw our people onto the fangs of annihilation, and I fear only a combined force could hope to prevail.”

“I hope we don’t have a re-enactment of that fiasco in-” Rommath’s bitter speech was cut off as a Spellbreaker entered hastily and, apologizing for the intrusion, announced the arrival of Voren’thal, Lady Liadrin, and some others. They were ushered quickly into the hall; Voren’thal, Liadrin, Aethas Sunreaver, some veterans of Draneor, and a few aides and right-hands. Lor’themar was about to speak when Voren’thal raised a hand and interrupted,

“My Lord, forgive my presumption in interrupting you, but before we discuss the Legion there is a matter closer to home which must be brought to light.” Lor’themar frowned again. What on Azeroth could be more important than a massive Burning Legion invasion, one that seemed as big as the War of the Ancients? Yet the old elf was clearly still in control of his faculties, and if a venerated Seer had something to say, well, it probably ought to be heeded. He nodded his assent at Voren’thal, who turned and gently pushed forward one of his aides, a tall person whose head was shrouded by a cowl. He also noticed that Aethas was watching this person carefully, and recognized the tension of someone ready for a fight.

Then Kael’thas pulled off the cowl and revealed himself to the three leaders of Silvermoon. He had expected them all to snap into immediate fighting stances and attack, but they only gasped and gaped. Rommath readied some kind of spell, but it wasn’t an offensive one. After the briefest pause, Lor’themar spoke;

“Halduron, Rommath, do you see this?” Both replied in the affirmative, “Damnation. I thought I had finally snapped.” He raised his voice now, and spoke with a hard edge to it, “Voren’thal, I assume you have a good reason for this illusion.”

“My Lord, if it please you, this is not an illusion. Grand Magister, would you cast that dispel you have readied? It will prove it.” Rommath did so, unsurprised that Voren’thal had either identified or deduced the spell he had prepared, and found that the elf in front of them was unaffected by it,

“Then what is the meaning of this?” Lor’themar demanded, now angry, “Some elf who looks like Kael’thas, why have you brought him here? Who is he?”

“I am Kael’thas”, Kael stepped forward as he said this, and when they heard his voice all doubt fled. It was him. Now Halduron grabbed a dagger he kept hidden on his person, cursing his choice not to bring a bow to these meetings, “Please, I ask only that you hear us out.” Voren’thal stepped beside him and placed a hand on Kael’s shoulder.

“This is a difficult thing, I know, but the time has come. Now look around. You see myself, Lady Liadrin, and Aethas Sunreaver, among others, all aware of this, all telling you to wait and listen.”

“So it’s a conspiracy!” Halduron cried out, “We know demons can come back, he’s got you all under his control!”

“Hal.” Lor’themar put a hand out to stop the Ranger-General, who paused but did not stop glowering, “Think about this. The others, maybe. Unlikely, but not impossible. But Voren’thal is personally close to the naaru. I cannot fathom they would permit his corruption, or let it go unnoted if it happened.” Halduron grudging placed his dagger back in its little hidden scabbard and stepped back, arms crossed.

Voren’thal, with commendable concision, explained his project to restore Kael’thas to life, the insistence of the naaru upon the wisdom of this, and Kael’s various journeys since he returned.

“I damn well knew I should have paid more attention to those rumors.” Rommath muttered to himself when the tale was complete. Kael shrugged and replied,

“Whenever people thought they identified me, I just said I was cousin Eldin, and that we had always had a strong resemblance. Which is not untrue. Does anyone know where he ended up, if I may ask?”

“I’m afraid not.” Lor’themar replied, “Without proof of his death, we assumed he would be next to take the throne, but he has vanished so thoroughly that he was never officially declared an heir or prince.”

“I see, I see.” Kael nodded a little sadly, “Thank you.”

“So, gentlemen.” Liadrin spoke up for the first time in awhile, “We now come to the question of what to do next.”

“Do you expect he can just stroll back in here and set himself up as our King?” Halduron spat.

“No, by no means. Remember, I was badly wounded when he took M’uru, I have enough reason to distrust him.”

“Please,” Kael’thas interjected, “This is all beside the point. I have not come here to lay claim to this throne, but to put myself at your disposal, at the disposal of this… council, I suppose we could call it, and of Silvermoon. I have struggled with thoughts of redemption and forgiveness for almost two years now, and though my adventures with Aethas have helped me clarify myself, my thoughts have increasingly turned to home. I am here because it is my duty.”

“What do you know of duty, traitor-prince?” Rommath said sharply, “I followed you to the brink of destruction, I wrestled and anguished, and you made me betray you. If not for Voren’thal’s guidance, who knows what choices I might have made?”

“Rommath, I called you my friend once, and I trusted you. And you did nothing to betray me, I was the betrayer. I betrayed my people, even as I thought I was saving them. You had the courage to defy me, terrible as I was then. You vindicated all my trust, because my trust, if aimed truly, should have been that you would do what was best for our people, not your Prince.” He paused, and took a shallow breath, “But I can stand and speak at great length about these matters. I said I am here because it is my duty, but I do not mean my duty as Prince, if that title still attaches to me. No, I am here because of my duty to the people I betrayed, the people who I killed, the people who I still love. I will make no excuses. I did evil acts. I am sorry for them. And I know that my words of contrition mean vanishingly little. So, I ask you, I beg of you, to use me as you three deem to be wisest. If you tell me to take up the carpenter’s trade and repair buildings in the city, I will do so. If you tell me to take up arms and fight in the army, I will do so. And if you tell me to throw myself upon my sword, believing that it would serve justice or security or any other objective, I will do so.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, Kael’thas knelt before the Regent Lord of Silvermoon and bowed his head.


	9. Chapter 9

“You three, get up that ridge! Mages, give me plenty of fire on that company!” Kael shouted about the din and chaos of the fray. After much deliberation, Lor’themar had given him a fairly low-ranking military commission, explicitly one that would not give him much power. He had quickly proven himself though, and was given increasing authority throughout the campaign. Now, here, it was reaching a climax.

“Someone tell a goblin or a gnome or SOMEBODY to blow up that fel cannon, I’ve already lost a dozen soldiers!” He shouted to a nearby messenger, who hastened away to deliver the request.

“Kael!” Aethas shouted from nearby, “Coming up the valley floor!”

“Oh by the LIGHT what is that? Firestarters, focus on that demon! I want it dead before it reaches our ranks!” The blood elf siege engines turned and aimed for the huge, obscene creature that was crawling along the valley towards them. The power of the sun and the magic of the sin’dorei were used to charge the weapon, focusing through a series of precisely built lenses until it became a beam of impossible intensity. Three points of light hit the hide of the creature, but within a second each one had bored into the thing’s skin and then its flesh. It roared with anger and tried to shuffle faster but, as Kael’thas saw over the heads of the smaller demons he was fighting, it was being efficiently carved to pieces by the siege engines.

“Good work!” He called back to them when he got a moment, flinging a huge bolt of fire into the heart of a squad of demons, scattering their charred, screaming bodies. In the valley beyond, stepping over the corpse of the previous beast, he saw another Legion weapon, one which was cause for much dread.

“Spider-Tank!” He shouted, “Time to fall back! Nice and orderly, mages and hunters first, then turn and give cover!” The Fel Spider-Tank was a devastating new weapon that the Legion had begun to deploy in this campaign. The six-legged monstrosity was heavily armored and armed with a powerful fel cannon which struck with terrible accuracy. It was slow, but had good maneuverability. Given that the machine’s thorax was about the same size as a fully constructed Fel Reaver, it took special measures to destroy. “Aethas, get a message to command, we’re going to need a bomb.”

“Sir!” Aethas snapped and had blinked away before Kael could say anything more. He knew the young elf would get the job done and felt comfortable in not worrying about that as he turned back to directing the slow, careful retreat. They had to buy time. Fel cannonballs screeched out of the Fel Spider-Tank’s main gun, inaccurate at first, but the vehicle hunkered down and tucked its legs in under itself, forming a stable and accurate platform from which to fire. The next round destroyed two of the three Firestarters, and he ordered the survivors retreat from the third, which was itself devoured by green flames a moment later.

The Spider-Tank stood up and resumed its advance, the gun again losing accuracy but still devastating when it hit. It was now close enough that he could see figures moving around the platforms that adorned the vehicles, both the mo’arg and gan’arg servitors which kept it running, as well as Legion soldiers. Taking them out would be meaningless, and he had neither the tools nor the troops suitable for infiltration.

Suddenly, terrifyingly, the mage shield that covered the battle site dissipated. “The mages, are they dead?” He shouted, feeling a little fear as he did so - the coterie of Horde mages which sustained the wall were powerful indeed, and this shelter was essential defense against the Legion’s aerial units, who were vast in number. Kael’s frown turned into a broad grin when he heard the distinctive mechanical whirrs of an Alliance air fleet, and the fast-moving gnomish and dwarven aircraft swept over the battlefield in a hurry. In the middle was a large airship, modified for speed over all else, able to deliver a tremendous payload.

“Everyone, take cover! Shields up, heads down!” Kael’thas cried out, throwing up his own magical armor as he dived to the ground and covered his head. A few agonizing seconds passed before the sudden, tremendous explosion hit. The gnomes, he knew, were precise workers - that bomb would have been a direct hit, or it would not have been dropped at all. Even with his head down he felt blinded by the light, but it faded after a moment. He stood up cautiously.

Plenty of smaller demons remained and his men had already resumed fighting, but behind them, under a vast pall of thick and heavy smoke, the ruined husk of the Spider-Tank was revealed. It billowed out sickly green smoke of its own from its ruined corpse, a huge gout ripped into the roof of the machine, rendering it a total wreck. The legs he could see were splayed out helplessly across the valley floor, and altogether the thing created a serious obstacle to passage. He grinned more broadly, and charged into combat as the shield above flickered back into being.


	10. Chapter 10

The Kirin Tor representative banged his fist on the table angrily. “This is utterly unacceptable. Utterly!”

“I see.” Rommath replied evenly. “And what do you propose to do about it?”

“We insist upon this! We will see Kael’thas brought to justice!” The Grand Magister closed his eyes and sighed heavily, wondering why the elves had ever sought membership of an organization as incompetent and shortsighted as this one.

“First, let me point out that Prince Kael’thas was already brought to justice. Or is execution now insufficient punishment? Second, he committed grave crimes, yes, but the worst by far were against the sin’dorei, not Dalaran. Third” he insisted on it, carrying on when the representative tried to interrupt “Third, if this is a matter beyond ours, it is a matter for the Horde in general, not the self-proclaimed neutral state of Dalaran. Fourth - Shall I continue?” He did so anyway, “Fourth, the Horde has accepted this, and aside from Darnassus, the Alliance has no objections above the usual either. Fifth, and finally, I remind you that the Prince’s actions at Suramar were instrumental in preserving Dalaran during the Siege.”

“Dalaran recognizes the contributions made by Kael’thas during the recent war.” He smiled suddenly, trying to smooth things over. “Indeed, we recognize the contributions of all of the sin’dorei. You fought valiantly against our collective enemies. Please, Grand Magister, understand there is no question of trust here. This is about justice.”

“Justice.” Rommath snorted, “Tell me something.”

“I shall if I am able.” The mage said,

“Supposing we reject your… petition, what recourse do you have? He is well-protected against enemies old and new, so covert actions would likely fail. You cannot hope to win an open war against us, even alone, though Chief Baine would certainly see it as an attack on the Horde at large and crush you. You could try to formally join with the Alliance, but Dalaran still cares for the fiction of its neutrality, as does King Anduin. He would be unlikely to welcome an aggressor that could restart hostilities after the hard-won terms between himself and Baine, and the dwarves and gnomes have no hunger for more wars. The Draenei might support you, I suppose, but they preach forgiveness and redemption in the Light, and the naaru themselves were involved in Kael’s restoration. So, who does that leave? The kal’dorei. And them purely because of Tyrande and Malfurion’s personal grudge against Illidan and his supporters.” The Grand Magister drank from a delicate flute, 

“Now, you mention justice, and that is what I find particularly interesting. We used to be integral members of Dalaran. We sat on The Six, we advised, we researched, we led, we fought. You, meanwhile, let our enemies do as they pleased, and have done little enough to apologize to us, or support us, since then. So imagine how different things could be if, at this time, we received Aethas Sunreaver as an envoy from Dalaran. Would his words not carry weight? Would we not be forced to consider your views much more closely, much more seriously? But ah, of course - Jaina spoke of this vaunted Dalaran justice, and led the purge of our kind from your city. Killed our people, not only mages, but civilians, shopkeepers, even our innocent and beautiful mounts. We are no longer welcome there, even sin’dorei with no magical knowledge were barely tolerated during the late war, even while they fired their bows and shed their blood to protect it. You have never once had interest in us, in our circumstances, or in the facts that surrounded the Divine Bell. We were subjected to Arthas’ genocide, we tore ourselves apart in Outland, we have fought against the enemies of the Horde and of all Azeroth over and over, and then Garrosh promised another extermination of us should we disobey him. He had the will. He did not have the means to succeed, but he had the means to wound us gravely. So, now you speak of justice, but you forget that we sin’dorei know what it is to be denied justice better than anyone. We will not bow to your petty demands, our business is our own.”

“You can’t blame everything you have done on Garrosh!” The Kirin Tor mage spluttered.

“We do not seek to.” Rommath said blandly, “But nor will we accept your denial of him as a factor of any sort. If he had commanded Dalaran to act, rather than Silvermoon, and said he would repeat what Arthas once did, with his axe at your throat, do you think you would have defied him? Paid that price of blood?”

“I can see that we are at an impasse here.” The mage said, now rising to his feet.

“We will go through with everything we have said.” Rommath stood as well, showing respect despite the tirade, “And that includes our hopes for reconciliation and renewal. Tell your lords that Quel’Thalas is ready to speak, that we are eager to find justice and put the past behind us all, but that the same must be true of the other side.”

“Thank you for your time, Grand Magister. I shall relay what you have said here.” He bowed and quickly teleported away, a rather rude exit from an official diplomatic function, but Rommath was surprised for even the perfunctory diplomatic nicety in his closing statement.


	11. Chapter 11

Kael’thas stood by the window and gazed out over Silvermoon. It was early afternoon and the city thronged with people, many still celebrating the recent festivities.

“I never thought I would be crowned King after all.” He said. Behind him, Lor’themar nodded.

“You may be the least surprised of us all. But the people have accepted you. Your coronation brought them joy, joy that has been all too rare in recent years.” Kael’thas turned to face him and the onetime Regent Lord saw sadness in the King’s eyes.

“I fear I may be leading them to false joy and false hope. Am I worthy of this? Am I capable? Can I be trusted?”

“My King, I cannot give you all the assurances you seek, because I do not see the future. What I do see, though, is an elf who has worked without flagging for the betterment of his people. When we sent you to the Broken Isles, we did so because we had little idea what else we might do with you. You proved to us, even to Halduron, that you had much to give. All the reports from the campaign indicated the same things about you; chivalry, mercy, and talent. You not afraid to rely on other races for help, and you had the courage to ask soldiers to fight and die, but you did not do so without understanding the weight of that demand.”

“You are far too kind to me, Lor’themar.”

“You have earned every word of praise. As for being trusted, well, I see two things I would have you think about. First, who better to avoid future mistakes than someone who is honest about their past ones? Since your return I have not known you to shy away from your previous actions. Many in the Kingdom even think you were so possessed by demons that you cannot be held to account for all you did, but you do not accept that excuse yourself. Second, we have discussed this reorganization at length, and it seems a very sensible, prudent way to protect us against corruption.”

“Ah, yes, and speaking of that, it is just about time, I believe?”

“It is indeed, my King.”

Turning back to the window for another glance at the city, Kael’thas then followed Lor’themar out of his suite and through the halls of the Sunlight Spire, the reborn, remade Sunfury Spire, a fusion of old and new elvish architecture. They arrived at the Star Chamber, the new room where Kael’thas intended to discuss the business of government with his closest advisers. Present already were Halduron Brightwing, Rommath, Lady Liadrin, Aethas Sunreaver, High Examiner Tae’thelan Bloodwatcher, Voren’thal the Seer, and Ambassador Kristine Denny, the Dark Lady’s personal representative in Silvermoon. They stood and made their shows of respect when Kael’thas entered, before he sat and they joined him in sitting, Lor’themar at his right hand.

The room was both tall and broad, and light streamed in through the delicately crafted stained glass windows high above. The sunlight made the room bright, with everything seeming to be either gold, soft red, or shining white marble. The blue glow to Kael’s own eyes was contrasted to the green of his compatriots, but he was confident in time the Sunwell would restore them as well.

“Everyone, thank you for attending this. I know we are all very busy, and some of us may have indulged a little too much in the festivities.” He gave a pointed look at Halduron, who grinned shamelessly back at him, “I have also requested the presence of the good Lady Denny, as I feel it important for both respect and friendship that Queen Sylvanas be kept informed of current events in Quel’Thalas. Please do convey my deepest personal thanks for the tremendous amount of aid your Queen gave us, especially in those early years.”

Kristine Denny nodded politely at this, and noted to herself that she would have to emphasize his apparent sincerity.

“Now, to business. Some of you may already be aware, but yesterday I was crowned King of Quel’Thalas.” Chuckles from around the table, “No doubt you have also heard that I intend to implement a fairly serious reorganization of the Kingdom. It is my hope that, through these changes, we can achieve two things. The first, and most important, is that it will serve as a check on anyone in the future from being able to do what I did for the Burning Legion. Second, I hope to ensure that the voices of the different parts of our society are all given a fair place in these halls. Though our people may have certain disciplines we prefer over others, I have seen what being pushed aside and discarded can do to a people.”

“Therefore, I will maintain the title of King of Quel’Thalas, but I hereby restore the Convocation of Silvermoon. In times past this served as a source of wisdom and leadership for our people, and it shall do so again. However, I intend for the formulation to be slightly different; it shall be composed of three members chosen by the noble houses of Silvermoon, one member each chosen by the Magisters, the Blood Knights, the Farstriders, and one from the Reliquary, on condition that this individual be of our kind. Further, two members shall be chosen by the ordinary citizens of Quel’Thalas, in the manner of the gnomes. I also grant observer status to a representative of the Scryers. This may be changed to full membership at their discretion, with the rights and responsibilities that entails. Should they choose to take that seat, a third seat will also be granted to the common people, in order to retain an uneven number in total.”

“Now, I shall also form a King’s Council of three people, to whom I may appoint who I wish, but who may be removed by a majority of the Convocation. The leader of this Council shall be known as Lord Protector of Silvermoon, and shall be considered the designated regent should the need for one ever arise. I shall trust these three as my best and wisest, but their formal powers in this role will be both few and vitally important. Any one of them may block any policy I implement temporarily, and refer it to the Convocation for discussion. Should two oppose something I do, the police is to be considered dead for a period of at least five years, or until they rescind their objections. Finally, if all three members of this council agree, they have the power to force my abdication.” At this, there were gasps from around the table, even from the stoic Forsaken ambassador, “Should this occur, the normal rules of succession shall apply, but if they and two-thirds of the Convocation agree, they may disregard those rules and appoint someone of their choosing.”

“So, at this time, I would appoint the following to my council. Lord Protector Lor’themar Theron, you have shown the utmost in courage, leadership, and wisdom over these past years. I know you begrudge the weights of leadership, but I also know there are few who could be more trusted with the fate of our people.

“Second, I appoint Grand Magister Rommath, as leader of the magi of our city and a man who has proven the true meaning of loyalty, not to a mad King on another world, but to the people and land he loves.

“Third, and finally, I appoint Halduron Brightwing, Ranger-General of the Farstriders. With these other two you have led Silvermoon through some dark, dark times in the past, and you have done so with insight and the utmost bravery. Silvermoon would be much poorer without your advice and leadership.”

“There is still a great deal of work to be done before we can call this government complete, and once that is so, the much, much greater task of leading and protecting our people continues.” The meeting continued late into the night as matters were discussed, issues arose and were settled, and clarification was made.


	12. Chapter 12

“Do you think they would accept?” King Kael’thas asked, as he relaxed on an evening-lit balcony high above Silvermoon.

“Some would. Probably many would not.” Lor’themar said.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Halduron replied,

“History, memories, new lives… there are many reasons.” Kael said, “But still, I have come to think this is an important step for our people.”

“Just don’t send me to Dalaran.” Rommath spoke gruffly, not eager to return to that city,

“No, those who pledge allegiance to Dalaran are not welcome. They may come if they reject that city, and I hope we may yet restore relations, Light knows that Aethas is at his wit’s end with nothing to do these days.”

“Please reassign him. Anywhere is fine.” Rommath said; he did not laugh when the others did.

“At any rate, I think it is time to move ahead with this. We must welcome the high elves back into Silvermoon, for no elf should be exiled from this beautiful homeland. This is an essential part of our healing, and we cannot be truly, finally reborn until we are reunited.”

“What will we be reborn into, I wonder?” Lor’themar asked. King Kael’thas Sunstrider, the Phoenix King, the Redeemed King, said nothing for some minutes. He watched the stars and saw, among them, the glorious flame of A’lar, reborn once again and returned to his side, as faithful as ever. A smile spread across his lips, one of real joy and happiness, because he thought for just a moment he had borrowed Voren’thal’s powers and seen the future;

“Belore’dorei.”


End file.
